


let me close my eyes before they betray me

by misremembered_constellations



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Major Character Injury, Period Typical Attitudes, Whipping, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:48:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misremembered_constellations/pseuds/misremembered_constellations
Summary: Semi-canon compliant, Rittenhouse travels to 1879 Denver, Flynn is injured, Lucy helps take care of him.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I did an embarrassing amount of historical research for this and am planning for chapter 2

Everything kicked into high gear when the alarm went off early in the bunker one morning.

The team was sitting down for breakfast when it sounded, blaring in their ears, waking them up rather abruptly as the coffee would if they had a moment to actually drink it.

Everyone scrambled to the controls to see where Rittenhouse went this time. 

Rufus reached the screens first, “Dover, Denver, year is 1879. Lucy?”

Lucy was wracking her brain but it was early and she was having trouble tracking what Rittenhouse was up to. “I don’t know, it’s not in line with any large, well known historical event. They must be trying to sabotage something coming later, or something that’s not on my radar.”

Agent Christopher nodded and said with a clap, “Alright, sounds like this trip is going to be a doozy, get ready and get going.”

Jiya and Rufus played rock paper scissors for who was piloting, and Wyatt had to be talked down from the stairs due to an old injury acting up.

“Guys it’s  _ nothing _ , I’ll be fine. Let’s go, we gotta stop whatever they’re doing in Denver.”

Flynn crossed his arms, his tone wry “Sure soldier boy, and I’m sure the tremor that’s been running through your arm like a current won’t affect your job in protecting Lucy and Jiya and taking out Rittenhouse. Just take a trip and see how it goes, yeah?”

Wyatt huffed and Lucy intervened, “Wyatt, you can’t make it on this trip, it’s okay. Stay here with Jessica, Flynn can take your seat. We’ll be  _ fine _ ,” she enunciated.

“Yeah man, you gotta get some rest. I’m not going either, we can hang here and binge watch some stuff until they get back,” Rufus offered.

Sensing he wasn’t going to change anyone’s minds, Wyatt conceded and the three going hopped aboard, quickly buckling their seats and holding on for dear life as the Lifeboat rattled around them. 

Things went to shit not too long after that.

They landed in a wooded area, just a little ways out of the town, stole clothes and were on their way scoping out Emma and her goons, carefully probing the locals for anything suspicious or out of the ordinary for the time.

Following a lead, they approached a large house in a nice area of town. 

Lucy reiterated what she learned from talking up the townsfolk, “The sleeper agent’s visiting Senator Cannon, Emma posing as his assistant attending meetings as they discuss legislature.”

Flynn walked between the two women, his top hat making him even more ridiculously tall, but he bent his neck forward to talk to them. “So what do you think Rittenhouse has to gain from this trip?”

Lucy shook her head with more than a small amount of frustration, “That’s just it, I have no idea. Wilson Lee Cannon isn’t really all that notable of a figure. His daughter is more relevant to the present than he is. Her name is Annie Jump Cannon, she came up with the classification system scientists use for stars and was an early pioneer for women working in ‘male’ fields.”

Jiya nodded excitedly, “Annie Jump Cannon is incredible, she created a coherent organizational method for categorizing stars that’s still used today. She was appointed as an honorary member of the Royal Astronomical Society before women were allowed to join it at all--”

She broke off, avoided Lucy’s surprised but intrigued face and Flynn’s gently amused expression, “Sorry, I went through a bit of an astronomy phase back in college.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Lucy interjected, but before they could say more they realized they were upon Cannon’s house, and there was a familiar figure in the front window.

Acting quickly, Flynn ushered the two women to the back side of the house where it met the woods.

Jiya craned her neck for a better view. “What’s the plan? We can’t just waltz into a Senator’s house through the back entrance.”

Lucy’s mind raced before coming to a quick conclusion, “We need to see what Rittenhouse is planning, we should steal the documents and hightail it outta here.”

Flynn nodded, keeping his gun close. “Alright, I’ll go in and grab them, you two wait here. We can cut through these trees and get to the Lifeboat if no one sounds any alarms.”

Jiya began to protest but Flynn objected before she could truly get a word in edgewise, “ _ I’m  _ going in because I can run quickly in these clothes and you two cannot.”

Lucy wasn’t going to argue with that logic, “Just don’t let either of the Cannon’s get caught in the crossfire okay? They’re important and we don’t know that Senator Cannon is a part of Rittenhouse.”

Flynn bowed his head, “You have my word, now wait here. I’ll just be a minute,” he said before turning around again. “Besides, we all know I’d withstand torture better than either of you two if it came down to a capture,” he winked and set off inside before Lucy could correct him.

Everything seemed to be going fine from their vantage point until a  _ crack _ echoed throughout the air and a scuffle seemed to be taking place inside. Concerned, both women tried to see what was going on inside the house but it was impossible. 

Then the front doors swung open and Jiya and Lucy crept towards the other side of the house, seeing police officers drag Flynn into a carriage. Sharing a quick look of panic, the women took off to follow them.

They took him to the town square where they tied him to a whipping post. The police officers wrenched his jacket and other top layers off of him before shoving him against the monstrosity, cinching rope around his wrists with practiced ease.

Lucy’s stomach was in knots as they dragged him from the carriage, his hands trussed around the sturdy column before he could make an effort to get away. He stood, rooted in one place as Emma floated out of her carriage with a cruel smirk and settled among the small crowd that was forming, her red hair standing out despite the hat that nearly covered it from view.

Lucy could feel her heart quickly increasing its speed, beating out of synch with her breathing.  _ Calm down, stop before you have a panic attack. You’re not helping anyone, get it together. _

Jiya broke the silence first, “What are we supposed to do? We can’t get him out with all these people and Emma.”

Lucy sucked in a breath and nodded once but firmly, “You’re right. I’ll stay here and keep watch, when...it’s over I’ll figure out a way to bust him out. I need you to go back to Senator Cannon’s house and see if you can garner any information from his office.”

With somber eyes Jiya dashed back the way they came and Lucy turned back to the excited crowd to see what fresh horrors Emma had in sight for today.

The police announced that Flynn was being charged with larceny, the punishment for which being thirty lashes. Lucy slowly integrated herself into the crowd well behind Emma, trying to subtly catch Flynn’s eye.

Turns out she didn’t have to try very hard. About a second after she joined the crowd he spotted her; his eyes stayed moving over the crowd looking for danger but would settle briefly on her each time he swooped back, his way of keeping her safe. 

Lucy nodded tightly when he met her gaze again, desperately trying to communicate without words that she was safe--but most of all sorry-- and going to do everything she could to get him out of this. His eyes weren’t angry, but rather determined. His jaw tightened when one of the officers brought out the cat-o’-nine tails and moved behind him. Lucy tried to breathe,  _ he’s going to be okay, _ she repeated to herself,  _ he has survived much worse than this. He’s going to be okay, he has survived much worse than this. He’s going to be oka _ \--

And then the first lash fell upon him. Lucy flinched and her eyes closed instinctively at the sounds of the whip hitting his back and the one he made. It was more akin to a growl than anything, but she had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach that his resolve wouldn’t hold. She forced her eyes open, it was the least she could do while he was tortured. The next twenty-nine lashes she  _ only  _ flinched.

It turned out today was one of the awful times she was right. 

Flynn did his best to stay quiet, but around lash twenty-two he found it more difficult to keep his noises in check. His growls turned to cries, the muscle in his jaw jumping every minute as he clenched his jaw so tight he thought it might crack. He kept his eyes open but couldn’t meet Lucy’s eyes. With every impact of whip on his bare back the muscles in his arms flexed, shockwaves of pain rippling through his body. 

His legs buckled near the end. Around the same time he lost the ability to withhold his screams. His vision was out of focus and he was leaning more than a little bit of his weight on the pillar they strapped him to. More lashes fell across his back, it felt wet and warm,  _ that would be the blood _ , his brain supplied sluggishly.

After what seemed like eons it stopped. They didn’t hit him again but they left him there. The crowd dispersed and Flynn watched a shock of red hair approach where he kneeled.

“Looks like you’ve got your bell rung, I have to go finish some work but I hope you had fun,” Emma teased, patting his cheek smartly with the flats of her fingers.

Snarling with exhausted eyes, Flynn said nothing and watched blearily as she climbed into her carriage and disappeared.

Shortly after Emma was gone Lucy swept in, tearing at the knots that restrained him wildly.

“Hey! Hey c’mon let’s get you out of here. Jiya bribed a cop but we have to leave  _ now. _ ” She tossed the ropes and carefully watched him stand.

He was leaning quite a bit, and waving off her help at putting his shirt and coat back on.

“’s not worth it,” Flynn slurred, bending his form over her shoulder, his head coming to just above her head rather than towering over her as he normally did. “Can...can you h-help me to the ship?”

Lucy searched around for Jiya who was rushing over to them, and they sandwiched him between them on their trek to the  _ Lifeboat _ . Flynn’s breath was ragged and wet. Lucy couldn’t bear to look at the state of his back. Occasionally she shifted her hand to his hipbone to get a better grip and tried to ignore the fast trickle of blood slowly covering her hand. The three of them didn’t talk the whole way into the woods as it turned from evening to nightfall, except to ask if Jiya recovered anything from the Senators house.

She did. She deserved a raise if they were still getting paid for doing this. 

Hell, they all did.


	2. for when they open they whisper of truths unshed

The ride home wasn’t any fun, bumpy and jarring as always, and it was the least amount of fun for Flynn. He sat as hunched forward as his seatbelt allowed him to, loathe to press his broken flesh against the leather.

Lucy was pretty sure they thoroughly disinfected the  _ Lifeboat _ after each trip—especially given how many gunshot wounds and stabbings they gathered between them and how often someone was bleeding out on the seat—but that was something she’d have to check later to be sure. Right now there were bigger problems.

Namely that Flynn was a large man who, after a successful mission, had to hunch himself in half in order to climb out of the ship. Disembarking today was a challenge on Lucy’s mind the entire rattling trip back to the bunker.

_ He climbed in all right _ , Lucy mused,  _ though he had the whole walk to the ship to prepare for it.  _ But he was looking paler by the minute, the shaking shuttle doing him no favors. When the whirring of the machine finally stopped upon landing Lucy and Jiya shoved their bustles through the exit port, extending their arms into the ship to guide Flynn down the stairs.

“Holy hell, what happened?” Agent Christopher exclaimed as she watched the women lead a still shirtless Flynn to his room. 

“Emma,” Lucy bit out. She was struggling to guide Flynn into lying on his front, he seemed like he wasn’t present, having still not said anything since re-entering the ship.

“Cops,” Jiya added brusquely as she came back with sparse medical supplies. 

Lucy perched on the lone chair nervously, feeling useless and mildly sick as Jiya handled doctoring Flynn with quick precision, occasionally asking Flynn questions that Lucy wasn’t sure if they were just to keep him awake or if he was actually meant to answer—he was mumbling when he bothered to respond at all. 

Lucy couldn’t make out a word from where she sat until she heard Jiya order exasperatedly, “in  _ English  _ Flynn, why would I want you to talk to me in Croatian?”

His back looked like shit. It looked like someone had taken a knife to it, the skin was peeling back where it shouldn’t and his right shoulder was inflamed, bleeding more heavily than any other spot. 

She heard Flynn sputter a curse and began to study the floor.

Agent Christopher left and returned with a bottle of vodka fresh from wherever Homeland Security agents bought supplies for their secret bunkers. Pouring four fingers in a glass for Flynn and using some for his back, he startled out of his stupor with a growl, Denise was doing her best to soothe him in a voice nearly all the team members were familiar with while handing him his alcohol.

“Shhhh, the worst of it is over. We’re going to get you bandaged up and then you can rest. It’s just going to hurt for a little longer and then it’ll be over. Can you hold on until then?” She moved the swoop of hair pasted to his sweat-dampened forehead and Lucy slowly dragged her chair forward to get a better look at his face.

Despite her efforts to be quiet she caught his attention as soon as she moved. Though she couldn’t tell how he pinned her with his gaze so quickly; his eyes were heavily clouded between the pain, vodka, and something else that she couldn’t label just then. 

“Luce—,” he slurred before stopping whatever was coming next as a garbled scream escaped him. The muscles in his arms twitched as Jiya operated near his shoulder blades, prompting Lucy to do what she wanted since setting him down.

“Give me your hand,” Lucy whispered as she extended her own to him. His eyes drifted to her bloodstained fingers and unfocused. He stared for a minute or two before something Jiya—who whispered a curse at something only she could see and started to work faster—was doing brought him back, the muscle in his jaw twitched harshly and his arm shot out towards Lucy too quickly for it not to be a reflex.

Gripping his hand tightly in her own, Lucy stroked a thumb over his knuckles. Two hours later his stare weakened and Flynn’s eyes drifted closed, his gasping breaths having finally slowed to almost normal rhythm. 

Jiya finished applying bandages, and Denise helped her adjust his legs properly onto the bed. They set some pills out for him, with whispered instructions for when he could take them and how many while their collective patient dozed. Jiya said to be careful of letting him use his right arm when he woke.

“It looks like the lashes affected an injury that hadn’t healed properly anyway. Bullet wound,” she added abruptly to Lucy and Denise’s questioning expressions. Memories of Chinatown ran through their minds unspoken as they tactfully discussed Flynn’s injuries. 

Lucy nodded, following attentively, while Flynn didn’t let on if he was paying attention. It had been awhile since she had taken care of anyone. Between her mom not being sick anymore—and calling the shots in the cult trying to kill her and her friends—and Amy no longer existing there wasn’t much room left for her nurturing side outside of when her friends developed serious or life threatening injuries. It was nice to be able to help someone who wasn’t a historical figure and whose wellbeing didn’t determine the fate of the world. Right now...it was...just Flynn.

Well, maybe not  _ just _ . It would be too easy to categorize their relationship as “just” anything.

The room was quiet between the two of them. Lucy’s nerves jangled as she wondered what had changed since they left this morning, if Flynn was going to be alright, and what he was saying.

Each time he exhaled from his mouth he was breathing words Lucy couldn’t make out. She assumed it wasn’t anything too important, his eyes were closed and he seemed seconds away from falling into a much deeper sleep than his light vodka induced snooze.

But before that Lucy had another idea in mind, “Hey, Flynn?” she whispered.

He hummed softly in response.

Lucy wiggled his hand a little, “ _ I  _ am going to change out of this massive dress, I’ll be right back. Can I…” she tilted her chin up and scanned his body, trying not to stare for too long at his heavily bandaged back “help take your shoes off?”

He tapped the tips of his shoes against the metal bed frame as if he hadn’t realized he was still wearing clothes from the 1800s.

Flynn was strangely cheerful for someone who had been whipped to near weeping and amateurly operated on.  _ Hopefully it was just a mix of the vodka and pain that was affecting his mood,  _ Lucy mused,  _ because if it isn’t I am out of my depth. _

“If you wouldn’t mind,... but please go, you should get out of your corset before you concern yourself with my feet for goodness sake,” he huffed a laugh as he shifted onto his side, leaning heavily on his elbow. 

Promising to be quick, Lucy twisted her archaic heels off and padded down the bunker’s hallway in stocking clad feet. She changed methodically, unpinning her hair after undoing the fastenings of the second skin she wore and removing the light cotton shift and stockings in exchange for sweatpants and an old shirt. Snagging a pair of thick socks on her way out along with some blankets, Lucy scratched at her scalp with uneven fingernails that sent heavenly shocks through her.

She was so distracted she almost forgot to knock on Flynn’s door, and was startled when she reached for the knob it opened before she touched it.

Flynn leaned against the door, “I um...I’m having trouble reaching. Can you help take these off?”

Apparently he thought he would save her the trouble—or he forgot she was coming to help?—of helping him change his pants, since he was in 2018 pajama bottoms, but still wore his antique footwear. 

He said nothing about the blankets.

Lucy nodded, guiding him back to sitting on the bed so she could untie the delicate laces. When they were finally off she tossed them in a corner, settling her things before Flynn drifted to sleep when he made another remark.

“Lucy?”

“Yes Flynn?”

He swallowed thickly, “You don’t have to stay with me in here you know. I’m not your responsibility.”

Lucy continued rolling out the blankets on the floor into a cot, already having crafted an argument to dissuade him from giving into his brain’s habit of choosing pain over the possibility of anything good over and over again. “I know you’re going to be okay but this will help me feel better. I wouldn’t get any sleep if I was on the other side of the bunker worried about you all night.”

She patted a pillow into place and looked at him pointedly, “And just to be clear, I  _ know _ you’re not my responsibility Flynn. I just…” she hesitated, unwilling to bring up something that will prevent him from laying down but loathe to lie to him. Not when they’d come this far.

He sat straight, waiting for her to say something.

“I just hate to see you—you  _ guys _ —hurt because of me.” He opened his mouth to interrupt but she raised a hand and kept going, “I know it’s not my fault that Rittenhouse is doing what they’re doing, but you and Wyatt are constantly leaping into harm’s way because of me or to make sure I don’t get hurt. 

And who's doing it for you? Who keeps you safe? You ALWAYS have your life on the line, and someday what if you don’t make it, huh? What then?” She could feel herself starting to hyperventilate and clenched her fists. She hated the voice in her head, mocking her for whining about someone else’s injuries but she was at her wit’s end.  _ What’s going to happen when he jumps in front of a bullet meant for me that takes him from me for good? _

__ “Or—or what about Chinatown?” she rambles, unable to stop her brain from spinning wildly onto the next matter that’s worrying her now that she’s started. “You got shot and still had to come save me from Emma because I’m useless. You might not be my responsibility but you’re on my conscience Flynn. You can’t die for me.”

In a movement so fast Lucy couldn’t catch it, he pushed himself off the bed and was kneeling on the floor with her. He placed a hand on her cheek and it took a moment for Lucy to register she had been crying. Warm tears met his hand and he gently slid a curl behind her ear so he could stare earnestly into her eyes.

“Lucy, I would never leave, not your side, and not from this earth.” More tears fell. “But you have to understand I can’t see you in danger and look away.  _ That’s  _ why I’m here, to do as you need me to in order to stop Rittenhouse.  _ But _ ,” he began as he carefully swiped his thumb across her cheeks, “I can promise you that I won’t take any unnecessary risks that give you cause to worry. Does that help any?”

Lucy nodded and tried to breathe, her breakdown leaving her with shaking shoulders. Before she could force herself to get a grip Flynn pulled her tight against him, and she only sobbed harder as her face pressed against the gauze wrapped around his shoulder.

Every time she tried to apologize—for not being strong enough, for Chinatown, for his family, for  _ her  _ family, for getting him hurt, for taking up the last of the hot water last week and not always sharing the whiskey she hid under her bed—he stopped her. 

“Shhhhhh, everythin’s going t’ be ‘kay Loosy,” he would murmur into her hair. 

His exhaustion was catching up to him and Lucy’s wasn’t far behind him. After they did this dance of her trying to make up and him slurring that it was fine for the third time she pulled back and insisted he get off the floor and lay down. 

He didn’t argue, and together they got him on the bed and underneath the blankets. Lucy pretended she didn’t hear his noises, both the groans from movement and the Croation rasp, a quiet “oh dušo” as she walked to the other side of the room. He didn’t translate so she laid down on her side facing the bed.

What was likely an hour later but felt like just a few minutes passed before Lucy abruptly woke.

She sat up to see Flynn writhing in his bed, grunting and yelling, his arms flailing this way and that as he fought off imaginary assailants. Scrambling from beneath her blankets, Lucy rushed to his bedside to rouse him before he busted open stitches and woke up their teammates.

“Flynn, Flynn,  _ Garcia _ , it’s okay. Wake up, it isn’t real, you’re safe,” she babbled, lightly rubbing his arm until his eyes flew open, his hand grabbing her own as if to anchor himself. 

His eyes filled with recognition when he met hers, his arms falling listlessly to his sides. He exhaled heavily, Lucy seated herself on the edge of the mattress and smoothed his hair back. It was getting long in the front, soon it would hang in front of his eyes if he didn’t cut it.

Despite his exhaustion he was oddly stiff under her touch. Not like he was earlier on the floor, but Lucy was too tired to try and work out what had changed between them.

Once he seemed appropriately calmed down Lucy made to go back to her makeshift bed but Flynn stopped her.

“Lucy,” he whispered.

She turned as soon as she heard his voice, “Is everything okay?”

The lamp left on in the corner illuminated the sharp edge of his jawline. He clenched it before releasing the muscle, fixing his eyes on the floor as he waited for her to scoff at his request.

“Could you...Would you mind staying  _ here  _ while I lay down? The bed is—” cold, lonely, driving him mad with the knowledge that she was so close now and he couldn’t keep her safe in his night terrors that took her from him forever, each night when he woke up in a cold sweat thinking Rittenhouse has taken or killed her— “empty,” he finished lamely, still unable to look at her.

“I feel unmoored,” he tried to explain, the pain and the liquor helping his tongue tell her usually hidden truths, “it’s these damn nightmares, I don’t mean to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, but I can’t let go unless I know you’re safe. Could you come closer? I’m sorry to ask—” but Lucy was nodding empathetically and had already grabbed her pillow.

He shifted over slowly, following the motion of her hand as she waved for him to scoot, his breath hitching as she settled on her side of the mattress. Lucy rested a hand on his left shoulder gently, “Is this okay?” she whispered, her voice tickling against his ear.

He nodded faintly, his system shocked as he tried to process her lying in his bed next to him. She was pressed up against him for the first time without one of them experiencing blinding pain or an emotional breakdown and the rising feelings coming to the surface unchecked made it hard to focus. She smelled like old linen and the lavender detergent they used for their laundry, he felt half drunk just on the feeling of her coming this close. Choosing to lay down beside him. Trusting him with her tired body to regain her strength while he did the same, less than inches apart.

“My nightmares keep me up too. It’s hard seeing you guys hurt to keep me safe, but I never realized you were so affected  _ after  _ missions, having to always worry about keeping us safe. I’m glad I can help,” Lucy whispered soberly.

“Keeping you safe isn’t just my job Lucy, it’s—”  _ what he lived for _ seemed too much to lay on her at the moment, though it was the truth that jumped to his lips.  _ Another day perhaps _ , he thought, “If you ever need anything of me, I’m yours,” Flynn finished with a rasp in his voice. She murmured her thanks before nosing his neck a bit non-platonically and promptly falling asleep alongside him. Flynn’s back ached fiercely and his bullet wound from Chinatown smarted, but Lucy’s warmth and a nice haze of alcohol acted as a numbing agent for the worst of it. 

Nightmares of Lucy being carted off to a Rittenhouse base to be tortured washed away quickly as he focused on her presence next to him. Safe and well and sleeping. Listening to the gentle sighs of her breathing Flynn felt his muscles finally relax and Lucy subconsciously moved closer. He breathed deep through his nose and let himself succumb to better dreams, at least for tonight.


End file.
